


Equilibrium

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Mithrim, before the host of Fingolfin arrived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28353528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: With Maedhros captured, Maglor is left in charge of the Noldor in Beleriand - and not particularly liking it.
Relationships: Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	Equilibrium

Makalaurë didn’t thump his head on his desk, but he did find some comfort in letting the solid, slightly cool wood take the weight of it. Just for a few minutes. There was no one to see, after all.

“Stars above, you’ve been king barely forty-eight hours and you’re already in this state? Good thing I decided to look in on you.”

Correction, there _hadn’t_ been anyone to see until his most irritating little brother had decided to saunter in without knocking.

Then again, seeing as Tyelko had no manners at home, Makalaurë’s tired mind enquired with some exasperation why he’d expected it would be any different east of the Sea. But he had to be able to grant himself a moment or two _sometime_ …

Was this how Nelyo had felt ever since Atto died?

“What do you want, Tyelko?” he asked, not bothering to keep the crossness out of his voice.

He wasn’t Nelyo and never would be. Best his determinedly thick-headed younger sibling got that through his skull now.

“To check in on you. Nelyo didn’t particularly enjoy being King, but at least he was suited for it. Whereas the only one of us that would be worse at this than you is _me_ , so I felt out of concern for everyone else that I’d better make sure you weren’t about to make some half-assed decision that will get you killed or captured as well.”

Makalaurë had glared at his brother for his first words, but by the end, he couldn’t help the cynical laugh.

“You’re right enough that you’d be worse than me, but I don’t think Moryo would make much better of a showing.”

“True. Though he’d at least have everything _organized_ as it all went to hell,” Tyelko chuckled. “If it’s any consolation, Curvo wouldn’t be that great a king, either – having to be in charge would take too much time from fussing over Tyelpë and designing the perfect weaponry.”

“Designing the perfect weaponry is really just another form of fussing over Tyelpë,” Makalaurë pointed out.

“True,” Tyelko agreed. “But at least it can be turned to practical use for the rest of us, unlike most of the other forms.”

Neither of them had the heart to mention Pityo. Their youngest surviving brother could barely manage himself most days. Expecting him to lead anything was beyond him. It was still more a subject for tears than jests.

“I suppose you’re right. As your older brother I’d better save you all from utter disaster,” he sighed. “I hope you’re appropriately thankful.”

“Of course I am! And on that note, I’d like to suggest we start peeling more folks away from the military drills Pelendur and his cronies have been running. Our eyes up in the hills haven’t seen anything from Angband coming this way, but the Mirthim say winter is nearly upon us and they’re predicting a bad one. The more people we can get properly housed, the better.”

Makalaurë nodded, trying to keep the fatigue from his face.

“Can I trust you with that?” he asked hopefully.

“It’ll keep me out of trouble,” Tyelko nodded with a beatific grin wholly unconvincing to anyone who knew him as well as his older brother did. “And if you tell Moryo to handle organizing the supplies for us, that will do the same for him.”

“The two of you working together?” Makalaurë snorted. “That’s a recipe for trouble, not keeping you out of it.”

“Neither of us do well sitting around with nothing constructive to do,” Tyelko shrugged. “I’ll be managing people while he’s wrangling wood and stone and whatever else he deems necessary for acceptable building work. It won’t be like the time Ammë tried to get us to make dinner.”

Makalaurë sighed.

That particular incident had gone down in family lore – though he doubted anyone but Tyelko would have dared bring it up. No one else was willing to so much as mention their mother since Losgar.

“Very well,” he said reluctantly. “But if you start to clash, I need you to be the one who walks away to cool off. And I’m telling Moryo not to get carried away. He’s not to decide that setting up a glassworks to turn out plate windows takes priority over getting people into winter-ready shelters.”

Tyelko nodded as if this were no more than he expected. But he didn’t move to leave, as Makalaurë had assumed he would. Instead, he remained in the chair he’d taken, not quite fidgeting.

“Out with it, whatever it is,” Makalaurë told him. He’d meant it as a command, but as tired as he was, it came out more as a plea.

“Does it occur to you that Atto went about this all wrong?” Tyelko asked quietly.

Makalaurë laughed, but there was no true mirth in it whatsoever.

“That’s only just struck you _now_?” he demanded. “No, don’t get offended. I’m not making fun of you. It’s just that I thought it was obvious some time ago that our dear departed father wasn’t making a very go of it as king.”

“It did become a little unavoidable,” Tyelko muttered. “Olwë had the right of it, if we’d only listened.”

Makalaurë threw his younger brother a sharp look.

“Did you reach this conclusion before or after you and Artanis nearly killed each other?” he asked.

“I’d say right about the time I cooled off from that,” Tyelko admitted, slightly shamefaced. “I’d apologize to her if she were here.”

“Be thankful she’s not,” Makalaurë suggested. “She wasn’t exactly in an apologizing mood last I saw her. Besides, we’re in enough of a mess without involving our cousins.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tyelko said thoughtfully. “I rather think on the whole Atto’s biggest error was in not sending them on ahead.”

Makalaurë gaped at his brother in pure astonishment.

“Go on,” he prompted with a sigh. “I look forward to this stunning bit of logic.”

Tyelko grinned.

“You mean to say it hasn’t crossed your mind at all that it would have been smarter for Atto to sit in Tirion and send Ambarussa to retrieve his precious jewels?”

“I don’t follow you at _all_ , Tyelko.”

“Well, I said ‘send Ambarussa’, but when until quite recently have you ever known the two of them to attempt anything important without Artë and Irissë in on it somehow?”

Makalaurë blinked – because he suddenly did see his brother’s unorthodox chain of reasoning. Then he absolutely howled with laughter. If anyone in Arda deserved the headache of those four at their absolute maximum trouble worst, it was surely Morgoth.

It would be very much like the girls to conclude that he wasn’t going to bloody well come out where they could deal with him no matter how nicely they asked, so they’d have to get his attention. No doubt they’d come up with something incredibly destructive that was still somehow an eminently reasonable course of action in their minds. And possibly actually achievable without interfering parents or older brouthers in the way…

“You see my point?” Tyelko said smugly. “Let them sail over, gather allies and wreak havoc. They’re quite good at doing both. Then wait until they yelled for help.”

“ _If_ they yelled for help,” Makalaurë corrected. The Fearsome Foursome’s estimate of when they were just fine without outside assistance didn’t always line up with neutral (well, more neutral) observers’ opinions.

“Even if they didn’t, we’d have had an easier time getting help from Olwë if we were coming to aid his granddaughter,” Tyelko shrugged. “We could have brought all the Noldor at that point, and probably several Valar as well, if for no other reason than to watch the spectacle. We might have all been back home by now.”

“We should be so lucky,” Makalaurë sighed.

Home, with Lindë, and Ammë, and their aunts who had been far too sensible to get caught up in Atto’s scheme, much less his oath.

Tyelko leaned closer.

“You don’t really think we’ll get him back, do you?” he asked quietly. “For all your fine words earlier, you don’t look like you believe you’re just keeping the crown warm while he’s away.”

There it was, the unavoidable reality they’d both been trying so hard to keep at bay. Their eldest brother was unlikely to return.

“I don’t see how,” Makalaurë snorted. “Atto wasn’t the only one who wanted my word on something.”

Tyelko cursed under his breath.

“And just what did Nelyo persuade you to swear to?” he demanded.

“That I wouldn’t waste anyone going after him, even if I were convinced he had been taken alive.”

“ _If_?” Tyelko spat. “He was!”

“He was alive when Pelendur last saw him,” Makalaurë replied softly. “He may be dead by now.”

Or worse, but he wasn’t about to repeat their Mithrim allies’ opinion on the matter to any of his younger brothers. Not even to the one who had been so fond of telling campfire stories about orcs.

“Anyway,” Tyelko said emphatically, springing to his feet. “I’ll get started on the building project tomorrow if you’ll tell Moryo about his part. You should sleep before you do, by the way – you look like crap.”

“Thank you, little brother,” Makalaurë said drily. “Any other pearls of wisdom to share?”

“Yes, I told Tyelpë he could wake you in the morning. So really, go sleep. Scare the kid and _I’ll_ be stuck being king on account of Curvo killing you. And we’ve already agreed I’d be terrible at it.”

With that cheerful advice, Tyelko scampered out the door before his brother could grab anything to throw at him.


End file.
